


Mutant and Silly

by GenuineSnoof



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Charles would never though, Gen, Humor, Pre-Beach, it's his own fault, slightly hurt Charles/worried Erik, using powers for silly things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineSnoof/pseuds/GenuineSnoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is hungry. Erik refuses to make him a sandwich. Obviously, this means war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutant and Silly

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno when this is set, but I guess before the beach scene (or in an alternative universe where everything's nice; feel free to choose whatever you prefer) .

Charles' stomach growled. Loudly. Twice.

After the third growl, Erik glanced up from his newspaper to where Charles sat behind his desk in the study. He'd been constantly writing cheques for the past few hours, shifting bills from one pile to another without any form of organised pattern behind it as far as Erik could see. 

To the repeated stomach growls Charles hadn't reacted at all, but seemed completely absorbed by his never-ending task of empovering them all.

The next time Charles' stomach growled, it seemed to Erik that it was even louder than the other times. It also sounded suspiciously like it was inside his head. Shifting his newspaper, he cast Charles a wry look and waited for the next growl. When it came, it was something more akin to thunder than a human noise. 

"D'you want anything from the kitchen, Charles?"

Charles looked up with a smile that made Erik want to laugh out loud and also throw paper clips at him. With practised restraint he did neither of those things, though, but just waited for Charles to say,

"Oh. Well, if you're going to the kitchen, anyway, I could do with a sandwich, I guess. I'm a bit peckish."

"Hm," Erik said non-committally.

"I hope I wasn't projecting."

"Oh no. No, no. I think I can tell by now. When you're projecting, it's more like this, isn't it?" Pretty sure Charles would pick it up, Erik sent a strong, detailed and very realistic image of Charles walking to the kitchen, all the way from the study. Ricky Nelson's "I'm Walking" was playing in the background.

Charles' hopeful smile morphed into a huge-eyed puppy dog beg-pout. "I'm hungry," he whined.

"Uh huh."

"I'm starving and the kitchen is so far away. I might not make it." 

The image of Charles walking in Erik's head changed so the hallway was now uphill - rather steep at that - and covered in snow and also what appeared to be quicksand. It was raining steadily, the music had changed to sad violins and image-Charles looked weak and exhausted, basically crawling up the ever growing hallway-mountain as he continued to stumble and fall. He was barefoot, shirtless and soaked through.

Erik snorted and lifted his newspaper again. He didn't bother voicing his final decision, but just put neon-signs with arrows pointing towards the kitchen into the heartbreaking hallway scene in their heads. 

Abruptly, the image went away.

"You know I could just make you get me food."

Erik looked up, lifting one brow.

Charles put two fingers to his temple, staring at Erik intently. "Go make me a sandwich," he said in what Erik assumed was supposed to be a menacing voice. It sounded like Cary Grant immitating Vincent Price.

Nothing happened, of course. Charles wasn't in his head anymore.

Erik fought the urge to laugh. 

"You *want* to make me a sandwich," Charles continued, frowning as if he was concentrating even more. "You feel the overwhelming urge to move your lazy arse, walk downstairs into the kitchen and make a cheese and pickles sandwich - rye not white - then carry it all the way back up here and put it on my desk."

With a soft wave of his hand, Erik moved a few pens and paperclips from the desk to spell "NO" and let it hover in front of Charles.

Charles dropped his fingers and glared at him, eyes narrowed. The metal items dropped on the desk in a heap.

"Now you're just being petulant."

"Hm mm," Erik said and once more lifted his newspaper. "When you go to the kitchen, bring me a beer, would you? Thanks."

Charles was silent after that for a moment, and Erik was just about to look up and see if he was pouting again, when he noticed something had happened to the newspaper. Or rather, he realised, something had happened to his perception of the newspaper.

Every headline read "Just in: Erik Lensherr is a wanker".

"Mature, Charles," Erik said without looking up.

One headline changed to "Genius found starved to death in own study. Selfish bastard housemate to blame. Read Page 3 for all the sad details!"

Erik laughed and lowered the paper. "You know you could be back with your sandwich by now, right?"

Charles pointed an accusing finger at him. "You started it."

"Ah. So now this is war, because I refused to act like your personal manservant."

"Precisely."

"Well then."

A paperclip hit Charles straight on the nose.

"Ow!"

Another one followed. The third one hit Charles' ear. 

"Erik!"

"Just stop me. Wait, I'll help." 

Charles' wrist he wore his watch on flew up to hit his temple.

"There," Erik said. "Go on, bring it. Give us the mighty fingers of power."

Charles tried in vain to move his hand, glaring. "Erik-"

"No, no, this is actually good training," Erik said and let a miniature little statue from Charles' desk (Was that a faun?) hover in front of Charles' face. "Defend yourself, c'mon." The figurine bobbed up and down as Erik made it fly closer, imitating a walking motion in the air.

Charles rolled his eyes. "Don't be s-"

The figurine hit his nose. 

"ow! That's it! Stop."

Erik braced himself, waiting to find he'd dropped everything he was controlling at the moment or wake up to realise he had walked to the kitchen on his hands to make Charles his sandwich after all.

But nothing happened. 

He frowned. The figurine was still hovering in front of Charles, who was rubbing his nose. Paperclips were swirling slowly around his head.

Still frowning, Erik let the little faun-thing drop to Charles' desk. He kept the paperclips in the air, but moved them away from Charles' head. After a moment, he dropped them, too.

"Better," Charles said. "Now go make me a sandwich."

Erik watched him, confused to the point of feeling almost threatened. Nothing happened, there was no sudden urge within him to do as Charles had said, nor did he feel like he had lost any time or had been compelled to stop attacking Charles. Yet, he had. 

He scowled. "You asshole."

"Now, now-"

"You didn't use your powers."

"No," Charles said. "Course not. Powers aren't toys. I don't use my powers to gain advantage in childish quarr-"

Erik threw all the paperclips into Charles' face, making sure he hit his nose with every single one.

"Erik! Ow! Sto- Ow! Ow!" Charles ducked his head, covering his nose with one hand. "Cut it out!"

Erik ignored him, gleefully poking him with all the pencils, when he suddenly noticed he couldn't feel the couch under him anymore. An eerie sense of vertigo hit him, making him drop the pencils. He looked down to find himself hovering a good few inches above the couch, still in a sitting position, but off the floor far enough for his feet to tread air.

A rather undignified yelp of surprise escaped him and he struggled to reach the floor only to find himself being lifted even more.

"Charles!"

Charles stared at him, seeimingly as baffled as Erik was. "Huh," he said and tilted his head.

Erik slowly started to spin. "Charles!"

"I didn't... Huh," Charles said again. "I never even tried it with a person." 

When Erik was sure he was being moved to be upside down, he positioned all the pencils, paperclips, the little faun figurine and a few picture frames off the walls in front of himself like a little army ready to attack.

"Release me or suffer the consequences."

Charles stood slowly, walking over to Erik and looked up at him. The pencils moved to face him like tiny missiles. 

"This is amazing," he beamed, so excited he rubbed his hands. "In the past, when I concentrated *really* hard, I could move objects across a room. It always took so much energy, I couldn't even think straight for hours afterwards. My nanny used to think I suffered from migranes."

He started walking around Erik, moving him accordingly, away from the couch. The metal army followed. "I haven't tried it in ages." 

Suddenly laughing out loud happily, he made Erik fly higher, stopping just short of his head hitting the ceiling.

Erik was about to voice his discontent with his role in this exciting discovery, when he noticed Charles swaying slightly on his feet. 

Studying him, Erik frowned, bending over a little to get a better look at him from where he hovered. "How long can you keep this up, you think?" he asked, all annoyance forgotten. 

"Dunno," Charles said. He had got a little pale and his voice was strained. "Not long."

"Can you read my mind now? While you're doing this?"

"Uhm... I'd rather not try," Charles said with a smile. 

"D'you think you could throw me? Don't try it," Erik quickly added. "But... in a fight, d'you think you could throw me without passing out?"

"I... I guess?" Charles said. He was leaning against the wall, frowning in concentration. "I don't intend to *use* anything in any fight, though. Mostly because..." Slowly, very slowly one of the cushions rose off the couch. "... I don't intend to get into any... fights."

With one swift motion, the cushion knocked most of the paperclips and pencils down. A few picture frames still hovered in the air.

Charles grinned. He was shaking a little. "Groovy, huh?"

Erik snorted. "Are you gonna faint on me? Just give me a warning, so I can lower myself and won't just drop, yeah?" An idea hit him, his eyes widenening a little. "That actually... Seriously Charles, are you okay? I... I want to try something."

Charles cast him a wary look. "You hit me with anything now, I *will* throw you."

"No, no, just... Keep doing it," Erik said and very gently tried to pull free of Charles' grip on him, using his own powers. "D'you feel that?"

Charles nodded and swallowed. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, rubbing his forehead.

"Okay," Erik said and stopped. "Okay, sorry. We don't need to try everything now. You all right? You can, uh, release me any time you want."

"Not just yet," Charles said. By now he looked ready to drop, but smiled mischieviously, pushing himself off the wall to open the door. "I-I think I *could* use this to my advantage after all." 

Erik frowned, when he slowly started floating towards the door. It felt weird to fly without controlling it himself, but he quickly got the hang of just relaxing and letting himself be moved. 

"Where're we going?" he asked once he was in the hallway.

Charles held on to the door. He was a little out of breath. "Not we," he said. "You. I'm... I'm not manipulating you ... in the strictest sense, so this isn't unethical... really. And I w-will get my fucking sandwich." He drew in a deep breath and sagged a little against the door. "And if it kills me."

Erik couldn't help but laugh at this. "Got it. You fly me all the way to the kitchen without passing out, I'll even make you tea."

He was almost halfway down the hallway, when he dropped just a bit. Reflexively, he used his own powers to keep himself in the air, then felt Charles' hold on him again. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Charles following him, using the wall to steady himself.

"You don't really have to kill yourself," he said. "If you can't make it, just say so. You can always go and make your own sandwich like we knew you'd have to from the beginning."

Charles narrowed his eyes. It didn't have quite the effect of making him look menacing at all, since his expression was so pinched it seemed more like he was wincing, but Erik got the idea when some military march started sounding in his head like background music. 

"That's the spirit," he said. "Or are you just projecting?"

"No... idea what you're... talking about," Charles said, following him as they made their way down the hallway. "You must be hearing... hearing things," he panted.

"Of course. Just to be clear," Erik turned around, using his powers, so that he was floating backwards and facing Charles, "you can't keep this up from the distance of your room in this very same building, so you're going to fly me to the kitchen walking behind me all the way, correct?"

Charles just gave a curt nod. His face was completely white by now, shiny with clammy sweat. 

"If this wasn't so hilarious," Erik said, "I'd be very concerned. D'you have any idea how you look?"

"I... I could check in your m-mind," Charles muttered, his fingers slightly clawing at the wall as he stumbled along. "But I'd drop... you."

"I can fly on my own, y'know. Faster, too."

"Nah," Charles said. His breaths came in harsh pants. "This... th-this is way... way more fun."

They had reached the end of the hallway. Erik looked down as he hovered over the first step of the stairs; he had moved his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. He glanced up to see Charles clinging to the bannister, eyes squeezed shut.

"The way this is going, I think we've really discovered a secret super weapon for any possible fights in the future. Just look at you, almost puking from all that pow-"

"Shuddup an-and help me down the... f-fucking stairs," Charles said without opening his eyes.

Erik widened his eyes with a little involuntary laugh. "You can't... Oh well." Taking hold of all the metal on Charles' clothing, he lifted him into the air and floated him down the stairs in a quick but gentle descend. His own took a little longer and was more haltingly, like a bumpy car ride.

"You're going to faint the second we're in the kitchen, right?" Erik said when he was hovering next to Charles. "And then it'll be up to me to fly you back to your room."

"Pretty much. M-me, my sandwich... and tea. You... you promised... tea."

"You haven't made it, yet."

Charles uttered a noise Erik thought sounded a bit like a mouse growling and bowed his head, his whole body tensing. Before Erik had a chance to suggest they stop this silly bullshit right now - no use in putting oneself in a coma for a cheese and pickle sandwich - he found himself being hurled through the air towards the kitchen at a speed that left him flailing his arms a little. He'd later deny the squeaky yelp that escaped him. 

Bracing himself for the impact of crashing into cupboards or suddenly dropping to the floor, Erik prepared to take over, when he came to a sudden stop right in front of the fridge and was lowered gently, carefully, until he stood in reaching distance of it. Charles' hold on him completely vanished and the last few notes of the by now rather shaky background music stopped.

With a glance toward the door, Erik waited for the inevitable thud from the hallway and was pleasantly surprised, when Charles stumbled through the open door a moment later, less white, but still rather shaky. He was grinning madly from ear to ear, his eyes shining as if he had a fever. 

"Teleke..nisis wins, sucker..." he panted, sagging against the wall. "M-make my sandwich and bow t-to Professor X, Master Supreme of fucking everything!"

Now that he'd released Erik, colour was slowly returning to Charles' face. He still didn't look like he could stand on his own, let alone walk back up the stairs, but he didn't seem on the verge of passing out anymore and he definitely looked his smuggest - which in CHarles' case was very smug indeed.

Erik looked at him, then back at the fridge. "Make me."

"Erik!"

"No, no, c'mon, think of this as training. Now we know your amazing telekenisis is pretty much useless against any opponent with powers - or arguably very strong humans even," - Erik ignored the indignant snort Charles uttered - "but with training you might be able to move smaller things during battle and maybe even read minds while doing it." - Another snort. - "So let's see how fast you recover. Make me make you a sandwich."

"I'm not going to be in any battles," Charles said.

"Then what are we training the kids for?"

"A better life."

"D'you want a sandwich or not?"

"You said I'd get one if I got you to the kitchen and I did."

"I lied."

"How could you?" Charles pouted.

"Lotsa training," Erik said, fighting a chuckle at the pitiable telepath all huddled against the wall, sniffing for utmost affect.

"You're mean."

"You knew that before you decided to trust me. Now make me make you a sandwich."

If possible, Charles' pout intensified. "No. I would never make you do anything you wouldn't do out of your own free wi-"

"Like when you froze everyone on the street the other day, because they were 'too distracting'?"

"That was different!" Charles exclaimed. "We were lost and in a hurry. Also," he added, brows arching and eyes widening into an impossibly heart-breaking sick puppy dog look, "I didn't do it to *you*. I would never do that to you."

Erik frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Is this supposed to move me into making you a sandwich?"

"Dunno, is it working?"

"No."

Charles sighed. "Please make me my sandwich you promised to make me in the first place."

Erik snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, waiting.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, then Charles muttered, "Okay. You asked for it."

"I di-" Erik said, but hushed, when the sudden feeling of utter *betrayal* washed through him, so fierce and unexpected it took his breath away. Reflexively reaching out to steady himself against the fridge, he shook his head briefly, then turned to look at Charles, who still sat against the wall, unchanged, puppy dog look still in place, yet he seemed somehow... changed. Sadness, disappointment, exhaustion, irrational fear - a whole medley of emotions seemed to surround him like a halo or a background humming. It made Erik want to snatch him up and protect him, even though he *knew* it was Charles' doing. A sudden noise tore through the kitchen and Erik almost laughed, when he realised it was Charles' stomach growling. He opened his mouth to comment, but had to close his eyes at the onslaught of images now popping up in his mind. Charles' memories of his happy victory when he'd managed to float Erik down the stairs and then the much amplified *shock* at Erik's refusal to pay up.

As suddenly as it had started, it was gone. 

Erik instinctively blinked a few times as if to clear his vision, even though it wasn't necessary, there were no aftereffects. "Really?" he said at last, looking down at Charles.

Charles sniffed, still pouting.

"That's not exactly what I meant." Erik smiled despite himself.

"I can do it again," Charles said, then, with a tiny smile turning his sulking expression into something slightly unhinged, added, "I can do worse."

Erik opened the fridge. "Cheese and pickle you said?"

"With mustard. And tea."

"Coming right up."

"And I'm going to need a lift up the stairs."

"Of course," Erik nodded. He cast Charles a smile over the cheese. "Well played, my friend."

Charles grinned. "And don't you forget it."

"Never. Next time I'll be prepared. That's what training's all about, isn't it?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "I hate you."

"I know. Two pickles or three?" 

THE END


End file.
